


Speak of the Devil

by OddyNoxious



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Character Growth, Demon AU, Dom/sub Undertones, Gonna have to be honest with you here, M/M, OCs present to as plot devices, Rating subject to change, Slow Burn, Some suspension of disbelief required, Teratophilia, and that demon was Octane, because Octane is a horrific monster, blink and you'll miss them, but let’s just say he would, caustic would not summon a demon, just bear with me on the first chapter we gotta get that demon in here somehow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OddyNoxious/pseuds/OddyNoxious
Summary: He’s crazy, this is crazy, he shouldn’t be doing this, but he’s in too deep to not test it out. It’s the only way to give him peace again- a scientist must reach a conclusion. Alexander’s already spent weeks on this silly little side project to not do something with it.Is he really about to attempt a demon summoning?
Relationships: Caustic | Alexander Nox/Octane | Octavio Silva
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. The Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The death of Alexander's coworker leads him down a path he never expected.

“Ah, good morning, Ms. Paquette!” Alexander sits up, locking his phone and placing it facedown on the table. He coughs into his elbow with a snort, then laces his fingers together and rests his hands against hardwood. Various scents and sounds of Zaldana Coffee Co. permeated his senses, wrapping him in flavors of mocha and sugar. It was one of those artisan coffee shops, where the menu was printed on a digital board behind the counter. It listed different mochas and cappuccinos that were uninteresting to Alexander in all fashion. The cafe was small, but decorated pleasantly, which allowed a sense of gentle privacy in an otherwise bustling city. An assembly of low, brown chairs surrounded a table in one corner, and in another sat a two-person table meant specifically for pairs. Alexander sat there, back to the wall where he could watch the door. The shop embodied a palette of browns, from the coffee-colored hues of the establishment's signature drinks to the duller shades of the oak that made up most of the tables and cupboards. In comparison to the sleek lines of the outside world, it was rustic. Homey, even. 

They always met here, once a week in the morning to share a cup of coffee before work. Natalie Paquette was a brilliant, young mind in all meanings of the phrase. As the newest addition to Humbert Labs’ engineering team, she had many expectations to meet and a bright future in the company. 

Alexander himself was part of the chemistry division, creating new compounds with his colleagues. While he did not approve of some of the lab’s work, the projects he conducted with pesticides were fulfilling. Chemistry is outstanding in every way. It was a lovely pastime, to watch the chemicals mix in their toxic, co-dependent fashion, working together to corrode exoskeletons and the like. 

“Dr. Nox, good morning!” Natalie greets, settling down across from him with some fragrant drink he cannot put a name to. While the different combinations of morning beverages were appealing to the young and bold, Alexander was simple. Ground black coffee from the can was just enough to do the job. It reminded him of home, in the way his mother would make cheap coffee in the morning for the family. 

“What did you get this time?” It was one of the main reasons they met at this shop in particular. Natalie tried something new each week. Something about adding a little spice to life. 

“Maple Bacon Morning,” she answers, bringing the beverage close to her face and inhaling its scent. Alexander watches as she takes a sip, how her face blooms in joy. “Oh, Dr. Nox, it’s delicious! You should really try it!” she exclaims, smelling it again. 

“Oh, the offer is appreciated, but I’m fine, really,” he counters, gesturing to his black coffee. He was simple that way, needing no more vibrancy or extreme flavor in his life. Alexander glances over, noting his shadowy reflection in the mug. 

They talk briefly, about each other's projects and people in their department. Alexander is not one to usually partake in such gossip, but it’s conversation nonetheless. Based on what Natalie was telling him, the people in her department were... an interesting bunch. She talked at length about one of her male coworkers, who was obsessed with the Ronin titan of years past, and talked at length about creating one himself. 

Titans were few and far between these days, either broken down into scraps, used for police force in higher society, or farming in the outlands. Farming Legions were privately owned and weren’t allowed for combat whatsoever. They were before Alexander’s time, and phasing them out was part decolonization and demilitarization after the wars. The damage done by Titans would be felt by his own generation and the few after. 

“Your father, how is he?” he asks, before sitting up as the expression on her face drops into a frown. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have asked-” he begins, but she shakes her head. 

Natalie waves her hand in dismissal, “No, no, no, it’s fine-” she taps the side of her paper cup, staring into the opaque liquid, “He’s… getting worse, unfortunately.” She tips her head to the side as she thinks of her father. “He’s starting to lose his eyesight, and he can barely hold a wrench...” she murmurs, her shoulders hunching as she makes herself smaller. “I don’t know how much time he has left, honestly,” Her voice is low before she perks up, eager to change the subject.

“And your own health, Dr. Nox?” Ms. Paquette’s questioning is equally innocent, but Alexander finds himself staring at his cup again. 

He straightens up with snort, acutely aware of the mucus in his lungs and his wheezing breath. “It’s.. decreasing. We ran some tests in the last weeks and the bills…” He rests his forehead against his propped up arm, “oh, the _bills_.” 

Ms. Paquette chuckles, a soft smile on her face, “you would think two scientists could afford proper treatment, huh?”

He sighs, rubbing his forehead. Alexander looks at her now, how small and innocent Natalie is, untouched by grievances of age and despair. “I have plenty of years left in me, but if I get worse that is subject to change,” he confesses with a shrug of his shoulders. Perhaps Ms. Paquette would not pick up on it, but the reality was that Alexander had less than ten years. Which was an optimistic number at that.

He doesn't want to talk about it. Alexander hums, rubbing the back of his hand with a thumb as his fingers laced together, “Well, we should get to the office. Care to come with me?”  
  
Natalie shakes her head, “oh, no, I need to go pick up Papa’s medicine before work.” She stands, grabbing her bag and her coffee, “It was nice seeing you though, next week as scheduled?”

Alexander nods, “Next week.”

* * *

Alexander steps through the doors of the office as he pulls on his lab coat. The hair stands up on the back of his neck. A sinking feeling drops in his gut, and his gaze immediately locks onto one of his younger co-workers, he tries to search for the name and position in his head. One of the interns? He sees the man hunched over at his desk, crying into his palms as others try to comfort him.

He approaches another one of his colleagues, a young black man with glasses. He did not seem as upset, so Alexander figured it was safe to ask him. “Micah, what happened?”

The other turns to him, exhaling an exasperated sigh. “Conner died from a heart attack this morning.” 

Alexander sits up, his face morphing into a frown, “You’re kidding.”  
  
Micah shakes his head, rubbing his forehead, “I don’t understand, it doesn’t make any sense. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. He was healthy- how does somebody just die from that?”

Alexander shakes his head, glancing over to where Conner’s cubicle was. Micah was _right,_ 20-somethings didn’t just _die_ from heart attacks. A possible pre-existing condition? A freak accident? His gaze scans back over the office, taking in his various coworkers. The first to catch his attention was a woman crying in her cubicle while another tried to console her. Most others were in various stages of grief or talking to each other.

Alexander steps towards Conner’s cubicle and feels his breath hitch in the slightest. It’s the oddest thing- taking in the post-mortis personal space of the unexpectedly deceased. Papers left from in-progress work, a box of new, unopened pens. Pictures of Conner’s friends and family, littered the walls, along with an assumed girlfriend. He shouldn’t be nosy, but the desire to _look_ was too strong. 

No doubt, the police would probably look in here, and were likely already on their way. He takes a precursory glance at the cubicle, unsure what he’s looking for. Maybe explanations? It’s not his place to look, but he _needs_ to.

 _Oh? What’s that?_  
Red ink of some unknown symbology poking out of a drawer catches his eye. Alexander glances over his shoulder, coworkers distracted by their own grief. He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but his hands are moving before he can think it over. Science required an answer to life’s mysteries, and this one was the cause of Conner’s death.

Alexander pulls at the note, runic symbols he can’t recognize making themselves clear. He holds the note as delicate evidence in his hands, plucked between his thumb and forefinger. He hums, pulling the drawer open. Nothing suspicious in here, but there had to be more. Taking another glance around, he decided it was safe to pursue further. Alexander leans over, and he sees it- a journal, velcroed to the underside. He grabs it, the velcro coming off in a loud _rip._ Unclasping the journal, he’s taken about by its content. Runes galore and latin he can halfway understand- heavy footsteps approach and Alexander shoves the journal into the inside pocket of his lab coat. 

He turns to see Dr. Humburt, leaning on the cubicle wall, “Alexander.”

“Sir.”

“We’re letting everyone go home in… light of events. Get out of here if you want.”

Alexander took that as a sign to leave.

* * *

Alexander arrives at his apartment with a heavy weight in his chest. Taking the journal was wrong, this was a dead person’s property, meant to be untouched except by those close. Yet, if Conner’s family had seen this? He’s still not entirely sure what _it_ is. It’s equal parts English, Latin, and unknown runes. The most he can pull from glances are mentions of demons, worship, and sketches of some gargoyle lord. He tries to convince himself that taking it was the right thing to do. He was protecting Conner’s reputation in death. What would they have thought then? Would it not ruin them, to find their son worshipping the devil? 

Religion was an… interesting topic. Satanism was fine, among others, but most religion was on a decline and wasn’t in any part of Alexander’s life. He was an atheist himself, as the universe was on decline with the topic as a whole. Bothering to research this was something of the past. Yet, as Alexander flicked through notes written in copper-smelling ink, he ponders, what drives someone to attempt demon summoning?

Alexander goes to his mailbox, pulling it open and taking the envelope inside. He can recognize the logo from his hospital- bills. The journal in his coat feels a pound heavier. 

Yes, what drives someone to summoning a demon indeed?

He scans into his apartment with his thumbprint, door opening with a metallic hiss. Alexander’s apartment was a rather simple open-concept style. A two bed, one bath with a small kitchen. Entering, first is the living room with Alexander’s grey couch, wooden entertainment center, and flatscreen. He doesn't have a dining area, the apartment is too small for that. In its place is a counter seated by three rotating stools and a granite counter-top. Behind the counter is his kitchen- equally plain. The spare bedroom was converted into his “hobby hole” where Alexander had the room well-ventilated for at-home experiments. It was for small projects on a micro-scale. Little reactions- like color change or small explosions. Alexander is a genius, he knows well enough to keep safe. He sets the bills down on the kitchen counter, and gets to work on the journal. 

* * *

Conner's notes were a _mess,_ and took weeks to decipher. They were telling of his coworker’s mental state- starting out logical and competent, then degrading into something horrible. He can see sketches of _something-_ some gangly, gargoyle creature he can’t make out. They were scribbled over and in some cases erased, as if Conner wanted all imagery of the beast gone.  
  
_Why?_

There is dried blood by some of the smudging, and Alexander knows he’s looking at something _evil_ every time _._ Further forward in the journal, as the author’s sanity degrades and the writing is more and more scrawled.

It takes weeks, and Alexander knows it’s a waste of time. His efforts are greater than their worth, especially translating all the Latin.That in itself is an arduous task- such a language had been dead for centuries. It only survived in the scientific realm. He had filled at least two journals of notes already, translating and learning the symbols are the most time consuming. He justifies it to himself- it’s a small project, he’s not getting too deep into it. 

He can’t explain it, how the journal calls to him, begging him to work. Runes and summoning circles finds their way into his dreams, a haunting red design printing onto his unconscious mind. There’s other noises too, of a cheering crowd and an explosion. When he wakes, the hair is standing on his neck and it’s impossible to move, as if a weight is pressing on his lungs. That was the first warning, that he should destroy it. He nearly did, too, holding the journal over the bunsen burner as it whispers to him. It was like something had a vice grip on his arm, perching on his shoulders and pulling his limb away from the flame. The breathy voice in his ear croons to him- _“You want this. You need help. You need me. You can’t pay your precious little bills? Let me help you._ **_You’re dying._ ** _”_

Alexander resolves that the only way to escape this is to see it through, whatever this is.

The summoning ritual and the markings are towards the middle of the journal, and finally deciphering them gives him a wave of relief. It’s the first obstacle conquered, as the ritual is in three parts- the chemical compound, the circle, and the evocation spell. The journal instructs to inscribe a summoning circle upon chalkboard, which was his second obstacle. Such things had not been in production for _centuries._ He resolves to do it on a whiteboard with red and black dry erase. If it didn’t work, then it didn’t work, and Alexander could sleep properly once more. As he’s sketching out the circle, his phone begins to buzz, vibrating it's way to the end of the desk. He picks it up, checking the ID.

It's Ms. Paquette. Alexander sighs, answering it.

“Dr. Nox?” Her voice is scared and quiet, and it strikes guilt in him without hesitation.

“Ms. Paquette,” his next words should be an apology, they really should. 

“You… didn’t come to coffee this morning. Are you okay? I haven’t seen you and I’m worried-” She begins to blabber, but Alexander quickly speaks up to silence her. 

He sighs, “I’m fine, Ms. Paquette. I’ve just been busy. Next week, I promise. Please, let me return to my work now.”

She huffs, and Alex thinks she doesn’t want to leave him, “Okay, please take care of yourself.”

As he hangs up, he thinks of the apologies he must issue to her when he’s done. He missed their last few appointments, falling into a cycle of working on this through sleepless nights until he passed out, then running to work the next morning. 

He’s a fool for getting this far. 

* * *

The first part- the circle. The outer ring is a spell of summoning, and the inner sigils pertain to the demon being summoned. Four were required, like a combination lock, to specify a singular demon. Conner only left four symbols in the book, and Alexander still cannot correctly translate all of them.

[ ](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/691802152854618205/729901790296014848/Demon_of_Impatience.png)

Demon of Impatience.

Lord of Chaos.

This one he struggles to translate, but the best he can muster is, ‘Great Demon,’ which he thinks is close enough.

This sigil is the most important, he learns. It marks the Demon’s personal title, and Alexander knows he’s in over his head. It means _The Quick One._ What kind of demon came from this combination of symbols? What did it do to Conner? Was it just coincidence, or did this demon end the poor boy’s life? It _couldn’t_ have been a demon, he died from a heart attack. There was no way the ritual could have worked, and no way his mad research led to his own demise. Alexander looks to the journal again, how Conner’s notes are all in shambles, how he tried to destroy his own research. A proper scientist _never_ did that, all data was useful and had to be collected. Whatever Conner had seen must have terrified him, drove him mad.

He’s crazy, _this_ is crazy, he shouldn’t be _doing this,_ but he’s in too deep to not test it out. It’s the only way to give him peace again- a scientist must reach a conclusion. Alexander’s already spent _weeks_ on this silly little side project to not _do something_ with it. 

Is he really about to attempt a demon summoning?

Something so stupid and foolish, bound _not_ to work? He knows nothing will come of this- demons didn’t exist. If he was about to try this, it would be an equal waste of time to what he had already spent. Curiosity itches at the back of his brain like a bad bug bite. Weight wraps around something in his chest and he props himself on the counter. A sudden coughing fit sends him reeling forwards- one hand clutches his chest, and Alexander can’t _breathe._ His other hand flies to his mouth as he attempts to keep the viscous slurry of blood and phlegm from hitting the whiteboard. He fights to steady his breathing, gasping and heaving with exertion. It goes just as quick as it came, and he glances at the bills again. 

Yes, yes he is. 

Part two of the ritual, the chemical described in the journal. 

“Stim,” is the name of the compound he’s deciphered from Conner’s notes. It’s a hard formula to interpret and, as Alexander planned to later, recreate. His experiments with Butanedione were far more entertaining, but this is all part of the process. The necessary compounds to produce Stim were purchased online and delivered via drone- simple enough. They were mostly different simple compounds- some of it akin to jet fuel, surprisingly. Each material was carefully handled and signed for. 

“It seems to be a compound capable of increasing blood flow at exponential rates,” he muses, writing the formula down on his whiteboard. “It’s like Norepinephrine, but worse,” he laughs slightly at his own humor, “or Adrenaline, for that matter.”

The lines were becoming clearer now- a logical man would believe this compound induced the boy’s heart attack, but it didn’t explain all the talk of the occult. Perhaps, it was a self-injected heart attack? But that didn’t explain the curious nature of his death. No signs of drug use whatsoever, leading up to his demise. If it was a demon, and there was no reason it could be, did it induce Conner’s heart attack? If so, why did it kill him? Was it because his request was filled? What could Conner _want?_

Remaking the compound was far easier than researching it, that was for sure. Alexander brings the vial of Stim up to eye level, watching the neon green liquid swirl inside the tube. Once this was done with, whatever the result was, he could rest, and this would all be over with. With a combination of freehand, stencils, a protractor, and a ruler, he transcribes the symbol with utmost care.

He constructs the outer ring- it’s the summoning spell. On the inside lay the four symbols identifying a singular demon. Thus, the circle is complete. He can begin. 

Thunder claps outside as Alexander fetches the vial of stim from his counter, wondering if the weather was purely coincidental. He didn’t have many lights on, just the kitchen and his living room- the only area with sufficient space for the ritual. His coffee table is moved to the side to place the whiteboard in the middle of the room. Lightning flashes through the windows, causing the lights to flicker for a moment. 

Alexander returns to his kitchen counter, where the last of his materials lay. The result of his work is there- a mostly full cup of coffee, the vial of Stim on the rack, and the journal. He lets himself stare at the tube, then glances at his reflection in the nearby coffee. His dark silhouette in it’s reflective surface offers no comfort. Whether it worked or not, the last few weeks had already left their mark on him. This is where his decision lies- so, does he go for it? He knows that the likelihood of this working was astronomically low; demons could not exist. They just couldn’t. It was a logical fallacy. Alexander was so tired, and he knew that seeing this through was the only way to give him peace once more.

He pops the lid from the vial, the liquid glowing neon green in the darkened apartment. He sinks to his knees, dripping the liquid on the whiteboard’s symbols. Okay- next, he stands, taking Conner’s journal and opening to the bookmarked page. Alexander hums- this was dumb, stupid, he was an imbecile for getting this far.

It’s too late now, weight is perched on his shoulder again, claws pressing into his flesh. The journal is screaming now, urging him forward. 

He has to try. If it worked, what then? Tell this demon to whisk away his illness? Would it kill him too, just like Conner? Would Natalie be at his funeral? Would she cry? He looks at the journal again- the breathy voice in his ear, the journal’s screams, and his own thoughts all coming to the same conclusion. 

His life depended on it.

Alexander lets his voice boom, “Come to me, Lord of Chaos,” He watches the runes begin to glow, turning from red to green. “I summon-” The symbols glow brighter, and he tries to steal himself. “The quick one,” the runes are blinding now, and he holds his hand to shield his eyes. The apartment shakes with a clap of thunder outside, and he loses power. The scientist is left alone in the darkness with the glowing runes. Alexander is almost afraid to say the next words. His bookcase knocks over, his windows shudder- green smoke rises from the circle. Whatever is screaming in his head is chanting demonic words of praise and glory. One last command, that’s all it takes- “The great demon of impatience!” Alexander is knocked back against the wall in a boom and a flash of light. 

Relief floods over and Alexander feels like a massive weight has left him. He groans, grabbing the back of his head and squinting his eyes- there’s nothing. It’s quiet in his apartment- he coughs as he stands up, using the counter to pull himself to his feet. His head snaps up as something creaks, and relief is replaced by worry. “Hello?” he calls out to the void of his apartment, limping forward to get a grip. Alexander feels the wall, trying to turn the lights on, flipping the switch. No power, another creak, and his gaze whips back around to the void. Okay, so- what now? No demon, it seemed. Alright, that’s fine. He coughs again, making his way to the kitchen.

He’s fine- he’s coughing and hacking up his lungs, but he’s fine. Alexander crawls to the sink, vomiting. When he sits up, he looks at his darkened apartment, taking in all the destruction. So- that happened, that just happened- he’s wheezing, and dry heaves into the sink again. If his eyes were true- where was the demon, then?

He just needs to _calm down_. So it didn’t work. No massive demon to greet him, ask for his greatest desires, that was fine, too. That meant all of this was a waste of time and he could move on. His breathing settled, Alexander pulls whiskey from the cabinet and pours himself a glass, and adds metal reusable ice.

He needs a minute, just a minute to settle down. Green eyes laser into the void, and Alexander mentally notes to call the landlord soon. His gaze bore a hole into the wall for several moments, absentmindedly thumbing away at the perspiration on the glass. So that was settled- Conner wasn’t killed by a demon and this was all a fever dream he could leave behind. Of course it wouldn’t work, thinking it would was a logical fallacy. The circle was done on a whiteboard, and the instructions explicitly called for chalk. Lightning flashes outside, and he raises his glass to his lips, whiskey burning down his throat. He puts it down with a slight cough, cringing at the taste as thunder cracks outside, meeting its skyward companion of light. 

This was all a waste of time. His free hand rubs his face and slams a fist on the counter, slightly shaking the objects atop. He was so _stupid_ . Stupid, idiotic, and an imbecile in every single sense of the word. Would this all be worth it? The journal has a leash on him, pulling him to work on it _more, more._ Dread finds itself in his chest again, because he has fantasized what to ask this demon _if_ it worked. His fear is existential, because his illness was taking years away from him that- maybe- some fantasy creature could whisk away.

Alexander lets his eyes travel to the living room, where the window serves as the only source of light. The outside lights must have come back on- wait. He didn’t open that. Alexander’s face scrunches into a confused frown, and he feels goosebumps rise on his arms. His gaze searches the darkened apartment again. The hair on his neck stands, fear rushing into his veins. Is something… watching him? Alexander whips around as something is knocked from the counter, then turns back to observe the living room again. 

The silhouette of Alexander’s shadow is morphed as wings splash onto his counter. A weight- a sickeningly familiar one, latches onto his back. Metal legs scrape across his counter as the monster hunches over him. Its claws dig into his shoulders, green saliva dripping onto his clothes. 

The demon closes in on his right ear, and Alexander stills. He fears, if he moves, it will rip his throat out. Its grip tightens on his shoulders, and he’s pulled back until he’s pressed flush against the creature’s warm chest. That same, equally familiar breathy rumble croons into his ear-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending artwork by @Melittosphex... More chapters to hopefully come, but I am a slow writer.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, come join my Caustane Server! https://discord.gg/bauD86q


	2. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander meets the consequences of his actions.

Before Alexander can do anything, the demon's tail grabs his leg. It spins him around on his stool to face it. 

"You're the fool who summoned me, hm?" Its trapped him with an arm on either side, leaning over him. The voice is _inhuman_ . Its greeting begins in a low rumble, starting at the back of its throat and reverberating out through the hollow chambers of its neck. Alexander struggles to identify why, exactly, it sounds so... _off_. There's a certain alienated tinge to it- like listening to a prerecorded message. Whatever's making the noise isn't doing so with a mouth- rather, it's mimicking the noises from somewhere deep inside. The resulting 'voice' is low and guttural. It sounds as if it's emanating from an old static TV.

He doesn't get a lot of time to inspect the face- he can barely see its features in the darkness. The moonlight illuminates the outline of horns and a rounded dome, but his gaze is drawn to its glowing green eyes. Alexander quickly realizes that it- in fact- had four eyes as it blinked. 

Skeletal, clawed hands reach for his face. Alexander lurches back from the touch, but he doesn't have anywhere to go. He watches it hesitate for a moment, gears clicking in its brain. It shrugs and grabs his face again, tilting his head side to side. "You're old, amigo." Green saliva drips from its mouth and onto Alexander's clothes. 

Lightning flashes outside and Alexander gets a moment to see the lines on its face and giant teeth. He's petrified, heart thundering in his ears. The demon squints one eye and inspects him. 

"You don't have a lot of time, huh," it croons, free hand forcing Alexander's back against the counter. Metal limbs scrape against granite in a noise that grates his ears, causing him to cringe. The demon still stands over him, and it's uncomfortably close. It stands between his legs and places an arm on either side, trapping Alexander in place. "So what do you want, huh? Secrets to immortal youth or some shit? Your wife leave you?"

Alexander swallows, and a gasp he didn't know he was holding in leaves him. His breathing is shaky- he doesn't know what to say. He shakes his head. He's trembling, trying to lean further back from the monster. 

"Listen, amigo, you summoned me, so you want something- everyone does" it pushes itself off him, slinking in the shadows to Alexander's couch and finding itself a perch. Slowly, he turns back around in his stool. He fears to stand- he might faint if he did. It hovers over the circle for a moment, as if mentally reviewing the scientist's work. "Fuck, you used a _whiteboard_? No wonder it put me on the roof. Last guy had a chalkboard like a decent cultist," it blew a raspberry at him, shaking its head back and forth. 

The rain outside lets up, allowing more moonlight to seep through, and Alexander can observe more of the creature now. He assumes this was the gargoyle creature in Conner's journal, the one his coworker was so desperately trying to hide from- to erase from existence.

Alexander leans on the counter, shaky hands trying to find his whiskey. He brings the glass to his lip and takes a long sip- demonic, shrieking laughter piercing his ears. Alexander jumps, coughing from the surprise, and setting it back down with a clunk. The creature's head is craned back, green salvia outlining its teeth in the darkness. He can see a long, green tongue now, and shifts in his seat. 

"Yeah, you'd better start knockin' em' back now, compadré. It's gonna be a long night, I can tell," The demon slinks to the whiteboard now, picking it up and inspecting it. One hand holds up the board, and the other is on its chin, "Gotta say, love your work here- _very_ clean circle. Incantation was a little off, but not bad for your first time."

His voice finally, _finally_ finds itself, "There's people who do this more than once?"

The demon's head tilts to him, and it gives another deep chuckle, "Well, yeah, if they survive the first go around." The creature drops the whiteboard and scampers back over to him in a round of scratches and claws. It leans over the counter, getting into Alexander's space and causing him to lean back, "so I'll ask again, what do you want?"

Alexander is shaking, stammering, and brutally honest- "I… need to think about that. I just… had to see this through." _This_ resulted in the monster before him now, drooling on his granite and getting green fluids in his coffee. _This_ was an experiment that demanded to be conducted. It was the only way for the journal to leave him be. He did what he had to.

The demon's eyes roll, and it scampers to his fridge now. Its tail flicks back and forth as it opens the door and scavenges for goodies inside. It removes a palette of chicken breasts from the freezer. A green tongue slips out and licks across its teeth. "Well, I'm gonna go on the roof and eat these. You better figure out what you want by the time I get back," It slinks away now, going through the same window as before. 

Nearly on cue, his power turns back on, and the rain outside has ceased for the night. Alexander's head rests in his hands, pulling on his own hair. Finally alone, he can feel his palpitating heart and lets out another deep breath. His face is white as a sheet, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

So… he had a demon. What now? Alexander lifts his head to see the tampered state of his living room- his bookcase is knocked over, contents spilled away. The sigils are now burned into the whiteboard, the open window allows a cool breeze to come inside. Alexander picks himself up, making sure his legs are secure.

His stomach lurches, and he turns pale as saliva coagulates in his mouth. He tries to force the bile down, but nausea overtakes him. Alexander runs to the sink, retching in force. Acid burns in his throat as the content of his stomach empties into the sink- whiskey, coffee, and all. He heaves a second time from the smell, twisting into dry coughing as he leans against the sink. 

He turns on the water, mess draining down the sink. Alexander brings his lips to the stream, greedily sucking in water and splashing some in his face. 

Jesus Christ, what has he done? No- he _had_ to do this. This was for him and him alone. Alexander wipes vomit from his beard, coughing one more time then looking towards the living room.

Alexander plops down on his couch as he thinks of the decisions before him. His elbows prop on his knees, and he links his fingers together, chin on his thumbs. He knows what he wants, but he has to be careful in his phrasing. He has to be tactful, lest he ends up like his coworker. Alexander's brain wanders through a few ideas, if he should use this for Natalie's father or something else. He knows Natalie's health and safety are vital- any distraction to her is a disservice to science.

His gaze is drawn to his bills again. He _knows_ what he has to do, what to ask for. This has to be for _him_ , he's too important to society, too vital for science. Alexander knows people are only valued by their contribution to society. The loss of his own life is a disservice to science. 

Claws tap against the glass, and the creature slinks back inside. Alexander sits up, now able to see it without obstructions. 

The demon stretches when it enters, standing to its full height and giving a little "oops," when the tips of its horns touch the ceiling. It had to be close to nine feet tall, and he sits back a little when its wings extend out to a massive wingspan. 

The demon hunched over to Alexander's height, scratching its face absentmindedly. It's skeletal in nature- it appeared starved, almost _atrophic_ . Its chest is overextended compared to the rest of it, gray skin stretched over each rib to a paper-thin tautness. Its stomach is almost nonexistent and decorated with four black circular markings. The demon's wings are bat-like in nature, accented by green spikes on each. Its limbs are equally spindly and grey, melding into pitch-black by its extremities. (Alexander hesitates to call them hands, they're more _claw_ than actual tissue.) Mentally, he notes the demon's legs are crafted of metal and ended in bird-like talons.

The proportions of its face are almost cartoonish. There is a lack of fat in its elongated skull, merely skin and bones. Four black, jagged horns frame its striped head, and Alexander notes that there are, indeed, four bulbous eyes- two small ones in the middle of its forehead, and two abnormally large ones where eyes should be. The color is fascinating, if not unnerving- a swirling vortex of neon green and milky white that glints in the moonlight. Its cheekbones are prominent and tapered to a point. 

Alexander is enthralled by its kaleidoscopic eyes, how they wander about until they hyperfocus on him like a predator. It locks gazes with him, green to green. He sits up. "You're the Quick One," he states, remembering the journal's sketches and the winged symbol. 

Its eyes roll with a back and forth flick of the tail, "Fuck, they're still using that?" It chitters and laughs again. "It's _Octane._ You can call me that. No need for formalities. Makes it more fun to eat you later. Scream my name and all that good stuff." 

It's a reminder that this thing- though it spoke and stood like a human, was a monster. It fully intended to eat him. "...Octane."

"Anyways, what's your order, oh Summoner," It asks, moving towards him and perching on the arm of his couch, knees to its chest with clawed feet. 

"Well, I-" he hesitates, trying to find the exact words. That's a mistake- it's too long of a pause. Octane is impatient. 

The demon moves, and suddenly it's straddling over him, wings flared to envelope him in shadow. "Listen," he can smell it at this distance. Chicken is still in its teeth, and its breath smells of raw meat and blood. "I know your type. There's only three kinds of people who summon demons," it pulls an elongated hand up, drawing Alexander's gaze. Even its hands are horrific- each finger is elongated to a sharp point- he can't tell where claws end and skin begins. It raises one finger at a time as it speaks, "suicidal, stupid, or selfish." The hand hits his shoulder and slams him back, as the demon tilts its head and looks at him like a jeweler inspects diamonds. "You're either selfish or all three," it scratches at his beard with its claw, "Now what do you want?"

He's formulating how to pose the request to the monster without it killing him. He takes in a breath. "I want you to take my illness from me. I want to live to the end of my natural life," he says, hand finding his knee, something for security. 

The demon audibly _groans_ , talons digging into his couch. "You're the selfish type, I see," it chitters, "Guess that makes sense. Who even cares about you? Just you." It cranes back its head and laughs. "You're dying. I can _see_ it. You got seven years left. You're _scared_ ," One of the creature's clawed hands tilts his head up. "Humans are afraid to _die_. They're self-centered, instinctual little pendejos," it coos. "You don't have a lot of options. I mean, you summoned me for a reason," The demon points back and forth between them as it says this. "Sure, I can take your little disease, no problemo," it presses closer, a tail snaking around his leg and taking hold. "But you gotta understand, there's gonna be rules and a contract." It snickers, licking its own teeth at the thought, "I'll be free to roam the Earth as long as our contract is in place," the demon leans forward now, getting its face in Alexander's space, "got it?"

Alexander scans its face, drawn to the hypnotic eyes and swallowing. He becomes acutely aware of his hoarse, rough breathing. His gaze finds the window- to the world outside. He thinks of what he may miss out on, what scientific discoveries he would fail to be a part of. Alexander knows his place in society. He's a man of science. _That's_ his value to the world, Ms. Paquette's, too. The demon is right, he doesn't want to die. His light should not go out _because_ of science. He's far more important than anyone this demon could kill. 

"Need an answer soon, Amigo, or I'll just bite your head off," the demon's tongue grazes among its teeth, practically drooling on him. "I'm sure you'll be tasty," it muses aloud with a giggle, the tail around his leg tightening. It leans in closer. Its breath is cold.

Alexander's gaze recenters in the demon, to its hypnotic eyes. He sinks into the couch, subconsciously trying to get away from it. He wheezes, "You'll… take my illness from me? Then I never have to see you again?" He could pretend this never happened, get his awards, donate his entirety to his work until death.

The demon hums, "Well, I'll have free reign of myself- I could choose to hang out here or like, dick around in some butcher's shop. You ever had a hen heart? It's to die for." Its tail swishes back and forth, practically salivating, but it shakes and seems to remember where it was. "So what's your answer?" it asks, claws pressing against his skin.

Is this a leap he takes for himself? Is he willing to let a demon roam free, to kill and plunder whatever it liked just so he could get another twenty-odd year? Two, three more decades for himself, to experiment to his heart's desire and die peacefully? 

"Yes, I'll take your deal."

The demon sighs, "Damn, I was hoping you would say no. Eh, I'll find something to do on Earth." It holds up a hand now, curling it into a fist and shaking it, a scroll appearing in its grip. It's a piece of fine, black fabric, with red sigils and demonic text. "Okay, so this is the contract," Octane holds it out to him.

Alexander doesn't want to touch it, the contract reeks the same evil as the journal. He pulls his hand away, glancing over the text. It's in bits of Latin and demonic speech, and he can see the symbols that make up Octane in the bottom left corner. A sharp finger points at the adjacent blank line. "Sign here, mi amigo, and you won't have any more silly little health problems…" 

He glances between the demon and its contract, how it waits expectantly, and stares at him in the way a butcher evaluates a cut of meat.

He has to do it. This is the result of Alexander's pain over the last weeks- a promise to lift his illness. "What happens when our deal is done?" he asks, watching the demon. 

"Oh, I get to eat your soul." It shrugs, "The older ones tend to be tasty. I can wait an easy twenty, thirty years for something to ripen." It laughs at itself again, licking its teeth. Octane materializes a pen in its free hand, holding it out to him. "So take the deal, or I might just eat you anyways." 

He can't tell if it's a joke- he wants to think it is. The bloody chicken stuck in its teeth is a reminder of its danger. He carefully takes the pen, signing his name next to the demon's sigils. He swears Octane's eyes glow brighter, and its grin widens with every letter. 

Then it was done. His life is sold away to a demon. A weight pressed on his shoulders, he swears he's going to be sick again- 

"Cool, that was just the formal agreement," Octane throws the scroll to the side. "This is the real one," the demon's arm shoots out, grabbing Alexander's hand. Needles fly out of Octane's wrist, stabbing into his arm. Pain shoots up his veins, and he plummets to his knees. Spikes lock him in place, preventing him from pulling away. 

It comes in a wave. Stim travels up his veins like a viper's venom, rocketing towards his heart. He feels white-hot pain coming over him. His heart starts pounding in his ears. Alexander's head lolls back, and he falls limp. The floor meets his back, and the demon presses a taloned, metal foot to his chest. 

The shrieking tone of Octane's hysterical laughter fills his ears. Alexander lets out a hoarse cry as his veins begin to glow a bright green. The world falls away until Octane the sole focus of his gaze, laughing all the while. He can't _move_.

Alexander realizes this is the first time in his life he has been truly powerless. 

He prays for it to be over soon. 

He did not consider himself capable of fear until now.

The demon finally ceases its hysterics, releasing him. It crawls on top of him, getting in his face and drooling onto his shirt. "You're gonna be fun, I can feel it," it coos, turning his head to look at his mauled arm with a finger, "A little spilled blood for good lungs, pretty good deal, eh?" It laughs again, dragging its tail up his leg. 

"See you around, Alex," it says, then rears back, leaping out the same window as before and escaping to the roof. 

Reality is a blur, and his head is foggy. Alexander takes in a breath, clear and uninterrupted, and lets the world fall to black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find doodles for a visual reference of the demon here!
> 
> https://twitter.com/melittosphex/status/1276152454128766978?s=21
> 
> https://twitter.com/melittosphex/status/1254956525447151620?s=21

**Author's Note:**

> Ending artwork by @Melittosphex... More chapters to hopefully come, but I am a slow writer.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, come join my Caustane Server! https://discord.gg/JfagGZb


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